it feels like that’s what this year has been, this year of racing the unknown, scrambling up a mountain of change, lying down in a bed of blind faith.
i keep all the knots loose, for easy escape, and, of course, to make room for new growth.
but nothing stays tidy for long, i know that now.
the sun and the wind and the moon and the stars all conspire to change the shape of existence, sculpting time into their own artistic vision.
so what if i can’t see what they’re creating?
so what if my eyes sting with the strain of trying?
so what if the swamp dries up and the trees bend with thirst and the field of corn across the street turns brown before it reaches four feet tall?
we’re all running, away or toward. we’re all breathing in this air that touches everything and everyone.
we are all this vine turning back upon itself when there is nothing else to hold onto.
breathing in light and exhaling silence.
the flowers that plant themselves become my favorites.
grasping opportunity or fighting for survival, it’s all perspective.
it’s all lost in the cold of winter.
there are always new seeds being planted.
there are so many questions without answers hanging high in a colorless sky.
i leave them for the night that promises results.
i leave them for the bird that soars through hunger.
i leave them for the child that cries to untangle.
tomorrow is always weaving a new story.
today is a word lit by inhale.